


Scar Play

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Frottage, Hand Job, Hannigram - Freeform, Hate Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Scar Play, Sorry Not Sorry, Will's Scar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 05:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18931912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: While Bedelia bathes, Will pays Hannibal a visit in Florence to show off his scar. . . and it has a peculiar effect on Hannibal.





	Scar Play

He tries to focus on the small splashes Bedelia makes in her tub, and not on her whispered questions which echo in his ear.

_How did your sister taste? Why can’t you go home?_

He walks back to the bedroom and pours several fingers of amber elixir. He decides to take some air. He takes his bottle with him.

He hears Bedelia move in the bath from his post on the balcony. He takes a scotch and then another. His lips twitch with frustration. He drinks again. And then again. He returns to his room and travels the floor. At last, he tosses himself into a chair. When he tips his bottle, the ring of liquid wanes like a crescent moon.

When Will enters, it is with languid step. His feet are bare.

“You’re alive,” Hannibal’s greeting is mild, noncommittal. He glances up with his eyes, unwilling to expend the effort, or barely able to move his head.

“You knew I would be. They told me you cut me with surgical precision. You knew what you were doing. You didn’t want me to die.”“No,” Hannibal quivers as Will takes the glass from his hand, drains it and then sets it on a nearby table. “May I see?” Hannibal asks, but Will is already unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his firm chest, and his hard abdomen. Hannibal swallows weakly as his eyes drift down to capture the silver snake that courses over Will’s stomach. He looks up to meet Will’s eyes, shore meets sea in eternal embrace. “May I. . . touch?”

“I’m surprised you’d bother to ask, Dr. Lecter.”

“It would be rude not to, Will.”

Will nods and slips his shirt off of his shoulders. In a sigh, it falls to the floor. Hannibal reaches out to touch the flesh of which he has so often dreamed. His fingers tremble and he looks up as if asking again for consent. Will tosses his shoulders back in a proud stance and says, “Go ahead. It’s your own work, after all.”

The scar is raised. It shimmers. It will be firm to touch but softer in texture than satin. “Stunning,” murmurs Hannibal, his fingers hovering above its surface. “It brings to mind the wild crest of a wave, sparkling in the sun, but far out in the sea where no one can truly appreciate its majesty.” His breath beats back to his face off of Will’s flesh, which is so close. So close.

“It’s yours,” Will says again. Hannibal drops his hand back to his lap. He glances up and finds Will gazes down upon him. Will cants his head, watches curiously what Hannibal will do next. Hannibal leans closer, sticks out his tongue and licks across the ridge of the scar. He feels Will shudder beneath his mouth, but he does not look up and he does not stop. He uses his tongue and his mouth to explore the scar, to nip its edges gently with his lips, to lap at its silken length, to kiss over the bumps where sutures have been removed. Will’s hands come to hold his head, and his fingers stroke through his delicate hair. At last, Hannibal raises his head and grasps the waistband of Will’s jeans. They gaze at one another with smug, bleary smiles. “Are you pleased with your work, Dr. Lecter?”

“Infinitely,” Hannibal says. A litany of verses build in him, but he’s speechless. His thumb continues to caress the scar and his fingers pull at Will’s pants until Will falls to his knees before him. With arms like a shepherd’s crook, Hannibal pulls his lost lamb close to him and holds his head against his heart. Then he takes Will’s face in his hands and tilts it up so he can tumble into the beautiful rage of his violent gaze. “I have made you almost perfect,” he murmurs at last, unable to manage much more for it seems every drop of blood has drained from his brain to his cock which is savagely erect.

“And I have made you in my image,” Will says in a strangled voice as he unbuttons Hannibal’s shirt and strokes his hands over his chest. He licks each of Hannibal’s nipples and then bites him hard. “I can feel how much you have changed in the beating of your heart, Dr. Lecter. It’s no longer so steady, although I believe you still have a great capacity for violence, don’t you?”

“I do,” Hannibal says in a grunt as Will frees him from the prison of his pants and starts to stroke him in a firm, fast fist. He smears the generous pre come that has leaked out already around Hannibal’s flaming head with his thumb and uses it to lubricate him. Hannibal arches with pleasure and moans. When Will stops suddenly, Hannibal hisses in displeasure as he is left throbbing almost painfully without Will’s hand around him. But he is quickly relieved when Will comes to straddle him, so his scar is level with Hannibal’s arousal. Urgently, Hannibal begins to rub himself against the shining injury. “Sublime, my Beloved,” he chokes and covers Will’s abdomen in a gleaming bath of semen.

He sleeps then, for some time, slumped over in the chair. From the bathroom he hears the noise of water and he dreams he is in a cave.

“Hannibal,” Bedelia’s voice stirs him. He wakes with his sticky cock encased in his own hand. Bedelia stands before him, wrapped in a towel. His neck is sore from the position in which he has been sleeping.

"Where did Will go?" 

"I think you've had too much to drink. And you've made a mess." Bedelia says. She takes the towel from her body and tosses it to Hannibal. "Perhaps you'd like to clean up before you retire." 

His breath is shaky as he exhales. Her towel is damp and smells of sandalwood and vanilla. He drags it over his crotch and hands repeatedly. In the cage of his chest, his heart races. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually chapter 5 of another Hannigram fic I"m working on, but it was just too weird not to post as a stand alone chapter. . . I live for comments and love to meet others in this gorgeous and brilliant fandom. Thank you so much for being here...


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